Childhood Dreams
by norrific
Summary: Tara with Abel and Thomas the night she comes home from the hospital.


**I disclaim. I own nothing.**

**AN: This is an extended scene from the episode Burnt and Purged Away. Absolutely Cullen suggested it in a review for Stay, so I thought I'd give it a try. Title and the song are both Nelly Furtado's Childhood Dreams**

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><p><em>I am not used to being carried or being able to carry a pretty song<em>  
><em>I have been bruised by my many trails<em>  
><em>Sometimes my skin's so thick it's frail<em>  
><em>I just need to be ignored till I wake up to the beauty that is yours<em>

"You want me to take him for you, Tara?"

For a moment Tara could only stare blankly at the large man, who somehow managed to appear shrunken, as he stood in the dining room. She forgot he was there, if there was one thing she could say for the new prospects they were quiet. And she found Phil to be sweet, if not a bit simple, and wanted so badly to tell him to get out while he still could. "I'm sorry?"

"The baby, do you want me to pick him up and take him back to his room."

"No." By now, Thomas was merely toying with the bottle, simply occupying himself while he began to doze off. She hated that she couldn't hold him while she fed him. That she couldn't pick him up, lift him in the air just so he could give his wide fun grin. "If you can just help me get him out of the chair, I'll take him."

Phil seemed to trip over himself in order to do as she asked, Tara wasn't quite sure what to do with that. She didn't like having the prospects in her home, not only because they represented the danger she once again found herself in, but because they reminded her of Kip. Reminded her what it was like to watch that poor boy die right in front of her.

Maybe that was why she didn't ask much of Phil and Rat, she didn't want someone else to die for her. And it was definitely why, when Phil eased his way into her hospital room that first night, she closed off until he left again. She hadn't spent much time with Kip, didn't know him in the same way Gemma and guys in the club had, but she liked him. She watched so many people she knew die, she could stand to go through it again.

But Phil was persistent, and lonely, terribly lonely. That more than anything is what kept her from booting him out again. He would always come in right after one of the PCAs came in or the nurse would make her rounds. He'd stay for awhile, to talk or nap. The few times he woke to realize she caught him sleeping he'd turn a bright red before hurrying out of the room. Despite herself, she began to like him. Found herself simultaneously wishing he did and didn't patch into the club.

"He looks like you," Phil said in a rush, voice a bit unsteady as if unsure of just how she'd respond. "You and Jax."

"Well, he's ours." Tara softened her words with a smile, or at least an attempt at a smile and that seemed to be enough for Phil, who returned her smile as he placed Thomas in her arms.

She liked to think Thomas looked more like her than Jax, especially with Abel running around looking like miniature replica of his daddy. Not to mention that, already, Thomas' personality tilted towards Jax. He was animated, playful, and sometimes she swore he gave her a smirk just like Jax's. And he didn't crave attention, her baby practically demanded it. Never letting her or anyone forget that he was in a room. Jax was the same way. They both seemed to enjoy being in the thick of things, enjoyed activity. Tara figured in a few years, she'd be driven made by one son who looked just like Jax and another who acted just like him. She figured with any luck Thomas would look more like her. The last thing she needed was two teenage sons who looked like Jax.

"I don't look like my mom or my dad." Phil continued as he followed her to the nursery. "At least not that I can tell from their pictures."

He hadn't told her his parents were dead, at least not outright, but she gleamed enough information from what he said to know he lost them when he was fairly young. As he spoke about them as a child would, making them everything good in the world. She couldn't really fault him for that. She couldn't remember her mother either. But there was nothing bad in what she could remember. "I don't look like either of my parents either."

"Well, goodnight, Tara."

"Night." Tara gave him a nod. Placing Thomas back into his crib had been a bit troublesome, but she had to take care of her boys herself. Needed to know that she could still care for them.

She hadn't seen either of her boys while she'd been in the hospital and God she had missed them. Missed the way they smelled, the feel of them in her arms, the way they smiled at her. Thomas had smiled when he saw her, until that moment she was afraid he have forgotten about her. It had been silly, but it was a feeling she couldn't help. The relief she felt was shortlived as she realized she couldn't left him out of his crib. It had been all she could do to keep from breaking down in tears. While Jax was away, there had been so much that scared her. Sometimes she still got angry at him, images of Ima in his shirt sneaking up on her when she least expected it, and she wanted to drive to Stockton and shiv him herself. Other times when she thought about him in the hospital infirmary and cried at not being able to care for him herself. The only things she found joy in were her boys and her work.

Now her work was gone. She couldn't lose her boys, her ability to care for them. The depression had set in while Phil carried Thomas to the kitchen for her. Sometime after he finished a bottle, Thomas would reach out to be cuddled. She dreaded that moment knowing she wouldn't be able to lift her son out of his highchair and hold him the way she knew he'd want. Now as she stood over his crib, aware of her mood as she fed him, Tara felt guilty. She couldn't let her shit affect them. It would make her no better than her own father. She'd be better for her boys, she had to be.

Leaning over the crib, ignoring the discomfort, Tara pressed her lip to his brow. She took another moment she to watch him before moving out of the nursery. And she'd been unable to stop herself from stopping by Abel's room. Needing to see her little man before settling down for the night. She hated that he'd been sleeping when she came in. She needed to see his smile, hear him call her Mommy.

She wouldn't allow herself to think about Wendy or the threat she made. Wouldn't even think about Gemma and that weird pissy attitude she had with Jax knowing about Wendy. She thought she knew what game Gemma had been playing and there was no way she'd let her get away with it. She wouldn't let Gemma make decisions about _her _son anymore than she'd let Wendy take him from her. And whatever she and Jax decided to do about Wendy, it would be their decision and done on their terms. She didn't give a shit about blood or legal rights, Abel was hers.

Jax always talked about them in terms of fate, that she _had_ to come back for him. Tara believed it, thought some part of her would always be that sixteen year old girl who saw herself and Jax as something that was simply _meant _to be. But more, she could remember the weight of Abel's custody papers in her hands, the nights when it was just the two of them curled together on the couch, the first time he called her Mommy, and she thought maybe _that_ was fate as well. That she was _meant_ to be his mother. And she would continue to be his mother-Gemma and Wendy be damned-until the day they put her in the ground.

_And it all comes to life so, so suddenly_  
><em>This is a place that's so deep, the water's so deep I hesitate<em>  
><em>'Cause all the energy it takes to feel this power<em>  
><em>I tend to run, I tend to hide, till I find you and I know I got you<em>  
><em>I know, I know, I know<em>

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><p>Once she was settled in the bed, it didn't take Tara long at all to drift off to sleep. The comfort of her own bed, the smells of her own home, coupled with the chaos of the last few days making it easy for her to fall asleep. But she didn't stay sleep long. As was a strange habit the last few days, she woke to the feel of someone watching her. But unlike the last few days, this stare held no weight or threat. She knew this particular stare, knew the way the bed dipped, and anticipated the soft giggle that soon reached her ears.<p>

Tara kept her eyes closed, face passive, as she waited for the first light pinch to her toe. This was their game, hers and Abel's, just theirs. It started even before he was out of his crib. She was better at it than he was, of course. He could barely stifle his giggles when he climbed into her bed and was usually shrieking in laughter before she even touched his toe.

She felt his fingers on her pinky toe, allowed her eyes to drift open just enough to see him stifle his giggles in his hands. He reached out to touch her toe again, and as was the game Tara gave them a wiggle. When he pinched her big toe, just a bit harder, Tara moved her foot and made noise that covered Abel's giggle.

Next came her favorite part of the game, when Abel-growing impatient with her not waking up-would move up the bed to whisper "Mommy, wake up" in her ear. Which was Tara's cue to grab him and tickle him. But Abel never made it up the bed, she felt the pause in his movement. When she opened her eyes, she was hit with her baby's tear filled baby blues.

"Mommy your hand." His hands were still at his mouth, tiny fingers pointing towards the arm Tara had propped up on a pillow next to her. And he seemed absolutely horrified by the sight of the cast and screws in her arm. Really, she couldn't blame him. It scared her.

"Oh, sweetie, it's okay." Tara reached for him. "Come here."

Abel moved up the bed slowly, giving her arm a wide berth. When he was at the head of the bed he cuddled into her side, resting his head on her shoulder. "Mommy's hurt."

She hated that he understood that, that it scared him. He was such a big boy, her big boy, but just now he sounded so small. "I'm okay, baby. I promise."

Abel nodded his head, but didn't say anything else, just stared transfixed at her arm. Tara didn't know how long they laid that way, but her left hand came up to run lightly through his hair. After awhile his body seemed to relax until finally he reached one small hand out towards her, the tips of his fingers brushing lightly over hers. Tara knew what he needed and she wiggled her fingers as best she could. It hurt, oh did it hurt. But Abel turned his face up to hers with a happy grin. And that didn't hurt at all. Just then she would have sworn there was no pain at all.

Without a word, Abel began to move gingerly. Stretching his small body across hers until could kiss her fingers. "There." He said in a way that reminded Tara so much of herself it brought tears to her eyes. "All better."

When he settled back against her shoulder, Tara wrapped her arm around his shoulders to hold him closer. "All better." She agreed before drifting off to sleep again.

_Oh you are the little boy made for me in the stars_  
><em>In the stars, that's why I can't let you go<em>  
><em>The little boy made for me in the stars<em>  
><em>That's why I love you more the further I go<em>  
><em>And before this existence you were always there<em>  
><em>Waiting for me you are, you are the realest thing I know<em>  
><em>Hands down, the realest thing I know<em>


End file.
